Secret agents in fiction fascinate me. From James Bond to Jason Bourne to John Le Carré, I've always loved stories about espionage and intrigue.
You always get a glimpse of the characters in their early days, how they were selected and recruited. It always seems like the CIA or a similar institution goes up to them. (In Canada, I suppose it'd be CSIS.) No one ever seems to seek them out. In a way that is never presented as being creepy, they'll find you. They're the surveillance gods.
I guess that's great for some people, but what about for the rest of us? What about the ones who have weird, embarrassing moments, and would die of shame if they thought they were being spied on by spooks in nondescript vans packed with high-tech whiz-bangery?
Case in point: The day I realized I would never be chosen as a secret agent.
Example #1
‘Underbrush’ 4x6" conte
4 days ago